Works

Story department

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A while ago, I posted about watching the making of Finding Nemo. I really enjoy Pixar’s storytelling skills, so to learn how that story was developed was really interesting.

I was amazed to learn how much work it takes (although I’ve certainly put a lot of work into my own stories)—but not just from one person. Movie studios use entire story departments to help identify weaknesses, brainstorm new ideas, make the jokes better, get the story structure right and more (certainly makes a regular critique group pale in comparison!).

I heard that and thought, “I want that. And I’ll bet I’m not the only one.”

And I thought this would be a great place to do it.

How this works:

The lucky volunteer submits whatever s/he wants help with: this could be the seed of an idea if you’re in the brainstorming phase, a query-length blurb if you’re looking for more specific brainstorming help or stuck in between plot points, a synopsis if you want structural advice, or even a scene or passage if you can’t quite put your finger on what’s not working. For maximum effectiveness, a short list of what you’re looking for is helpful.

I post the material on the appointed day. Then we, the kind, thoughtful and helpful readers and writers around here, put our minds to work. Think about it all day and come back with an insightful idea, or post the first thing that pops into your head.

Of course, the volunteer author doesn’t have to use anything we toss out—but now s/he isn’t the only one having to think of ideas. And even if we don’t come up with something specific to help the volunteer, maybe something one of us says will spark another idea and the story will take off again, magically healed 😉 . (The volunteer is more than welcome to engage in a discussion, of course, but we probably don’t need a full explanation of just why our ideas won’t work.)

The story

Our first volunteer is . . . me, of course! (How would you volunteer if you didn’t know about this? Silly.)

The story idea:

Title: (Uhhh…. I don’t do good titles until I finish first drafts)
Genre: YA paranormal


Sixteen-year-old Lacey Pratt already knew she wasn’t the kind of girl who got a lot of attention—a fact that’s driven home she starts hearing others’ thoughts. Her new telepathic abilities are overwhelming at first, but Lacey soon realizes how she can best use her abilities: to finally make James, her long-time crush, notice her.

And it actually works. But soon after they start dating, James is murdered—and someone is thinking Lacey’s next. Now she must discover others like her and learn how to really use her powers for good if she’s going to stay alive.

What I’m looking for:

  • Feedback on how Lacey should react to discovering her telepathic powers. Initially, I envisioned that as a major thrust of the book, where Lacey thinks she’s developed schizophrenia for the first few chapters. Now I’m not sure that works. Would it be too much (too dark, etc.)?
  • Kind of along those lines: does it sound uneven? Does it start off too light and get too dark?
  • Ideas on structuring the plot (i.e. where to place some of the milestones above).
  • Ideas for other events/scenes—anything that comes to mind with telepathy and high school.
  • There’s actually a lot more to my idea on the “others like her”—but I really don’t want to overload this book and make the first and second parts too disjointed. Do you think the above is enough to sustain one book?
  • And, finally, is it fresh? I’ve been thinking about it so long it feels very old to me (like, I can measure this in years). Has this been done?

Note: this is the same idea that generated the scene for the KissingDayBlogFest, but my latest iteration of the idea makes that scene not work.

Want to participate? Jump in the comments! Want to volunteer? Send your material—including what you’re looking for—to storydept at JordanMcCollum.com. I’ll contact you to work out a date.

Original photo by Tom Magliery

Technique

When to take critiques

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Don’t forget to share your best writing lesson for a chance to win fabulous prizes!

Obviously, nobody else knows our story and our characters like we, the authors, do. While critique partners are absolutely invaluable in telling whether a scene or even the whole plot works, they don’t have to be the be-all and end-all when it comes to determining what, exactly, goes into your story. As I said yesterday, immediately changing your work based on one person’s opinion is a knee-jerk reaction means you’re writing to an audience of one.

This is exactly why we need more than one critique partner. In fact, it’s why we need even that first critique partner. When one person has read your story (i.e. you), you have the feedback from one person. When you get feedback from one other person (who, let’s face it, may be just as blind as we are when it comes to storytelling, craft, publishing or what have you), now you have two people’s opinions. What if there’s a tie? What if one of you is dead wrong and cannot see it? What if you both missed something?

We need several pairs of eyes to look over our work, to catch our mistakes, to offer different points of view, to get as broad a range of opinions before we start trying to get our books out there and published. (Oy—do you know what it feels like to get feedback in a rejection that you’ve already gotten from a critique partner?)

Take your time in getting critiques (the hard part for me!) and in applying them. Let the feedback set in for a few days, and see if your critique partners all or mostly agree on those points.

Several of Rick Daley’s rules for taking critiques hearken back to this principle:

Rule # 3: Seriously contemplate your changes. Take time. Work through it. You never microwave a roast. Slow cooking always turns out better. (NOTE: what’s with all the food references?)

Rule # 4: Look for common threads in the feedback and start there. The advice of the many outweighs the advice of the few. . .

Rule #7: Be ready to disregard any feedback that doesn’t make sense. Sometimes people will tell you to say something different, but that does not always equate to better. Some people may give ill-advised feedback. If it doesn’t make sense and if clarification [rule #6] seems unnecessary, just disregard it.

The majority doesn’t have to rule, of course—it’s still your story. You can do what you want, what you feel is right. But if some advice is truly wrong for your story (because, say, your CP hasn’t read the whole thing yet and couldn’t possibly know that person is the murderer), still look to see if there’s an underlying issue prompting this advice that needs to be resolved. Maybe that character’s behavior in this scene is too strange or leaves too big a clue.

And what if they tell you to cut your favorite part of the story?

The fact that it’s your favorite may be a bad sign in and of itself. We all have our “darlings,” and yes, some of them must be killed. Give the advice some time. Weigh it out. Contemplate how cutting or changing that element would change your story. Could you take it in new directions? Would it deepen the characters? Make the plot stronger? Or just plain be more interesting?

I’ve mentioned this before, but even if we’re initially opposed to some advice, sometimes thinking it through makes a huge difference:

I should add here that fortunately I’ve been a victim of this one, too. My favorite example here is when a critique partner suggested I add a scene near the beginning of the book. I hemmed and hawed over this privately—until the scene started playing out in my mind. It was so entertaining—and just like she said, solved so many problems—that I just had to write it, just to see what it’d look like. (And when I still liked the finished product, I stuck it in there.)

And, as always, remember to thank your critique partners!

What do you think? How do you know when (and when not to) take advice from critiques?

Photo by Casey Smith

Technique

How to take critiques

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We’ve talked about receiving bad advice before. And sometimes, recognizing bad advice is as easy as reading it, like when I received a suggestion that would kill all the tension in a story—or kill the murderer in the opening scene.

But not all advice we have an adverse reaction to is bad. Sometimes it just hurts us on an emotional level, and we react from that place instead of really listening to the ideas in the critique.

Rick Daley, who runs the Public Query Slushpile, offered this advice on receiving critiques:

Rule # 1: Don’t pout if you hear something negative. Remember that you asked for the feedback in the first place. Don’t get defensive and don’t argue.

What’s the best thing to do if the advice hurts? Do. Not. Engage. If you respond emotionally to something a critique partner said analytically, first of all, the CP’s entire frame of reference is off. This can escalate very quickly into emotional and even personal attacks—when really, your CP (probably) wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. (This assumes your CP wasn’t unnecessarily harsh or otherwise insane critique partner.)

If you find the critique painful, simply thank your critique partner and put the critique away for a while—however long it takes to take the edge off, and then some. (It might also be a good idea to take a step back from your work for a while, too, if you’re still that emotionally invested. Critique partners are only the first of many people who will respond to your work!)

Critiques can be a good way to work on developing that “thick skin” that you’ll need when you face rejection after rejection, endless rounds of editorial revisions, or harsh reviews.

Of course, just because some feedback hurts doesn’t automatically mean you should follow it. Immediately changing your work based on one person’s opinion is another knee-jerk reaction that may not be helpful either. We’ll look at how to determine whether to follow hard advice tomorrow.

What do you think? What do you do when a critique hurts?

Photo by Paul Iddon

News & Contests

Contest coming—get ready!

That’s right, I’m hosting a contest—and soon. Why not now? Because this is the kind of contest you have to get ready for.

I want to share our best writing lessons, no matter where that lesson came from. It could be an insight you received from revising your own work, advice from a critique partner, an enlightening conference/presentation/class, a great writing book—anything. It could be an outlook, a technique, a strategy, or (again) anything.

I’m still hammering out the details for the contest, so I’m open to suggestions, and the information below is subject to change. (This post will always be updated with the latest information on the contest.)

What do you have to do to enter?

Submit a guest blog post, 300-1000 words in length, on the best writing lesson you’ve learned. Tell us how you discovered (or accepted!) your lesson, how you changed your writing because of that lesson, and most of all, how we can apply the same lesson to our writing.

Feel free to include links and a short biography, as well as pictures (this will work best if you upload them to Flickr first—as always, be cognizant of copyrights!). More than 2-3 links to your own blog within the post is a bit much, don’t you think?

To be eligible, entries must be received by 1 June 2010 in my mailbox at contest AT jordanmccollum.com . That’s two weeks to look over your writing life and come up with a couple pages. Not hard, right?

The winner

Here’s how it’ll work: All blog posts that meet the guidelines will be posted, one per day, in the order I receive them. Each post will have two weeks to receive comments. The finalists will be the posts with the most comments (excluding comments by the author of the post). The number of finalists will depend on the number of entries.

The top commented articles will then go to a panel of judges (who, um, have yet to be determined).

The prizes!

Um…. I’m not totally sure what the prizes will be. I’m thinking a writing book would be most appropriate. I’d like to be able to give the finalists as well as the grand prize winner. So this is one area I’ll be taking suggestions on!

How to win

Write an engaging, thoughtful post. Try to encourage discussion with a prompt or question at the end of your post. (Please, do not bribe people to comment with giveaways!)

Promote your post. Email your writing friends about it. Tweet about it. Share it on Facebook. Take the URL with you to critique group.

Participate in the discussion. Although your comments won’t count toward your total, it won’t hurt you to interact with the people who do comment. In fact, it’s a great way to fuel a discussion. (But as always, be civil.)

Suggestions?

I’m still open to suggestions for fine-tuning this contest. Should I not reveal who the authors of each entry are until after their two weeks are up? What would be a good finalist/grand prize? Who should I have judge?

Photo by terren in Virginia

Technique

Backstory: more resources

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This entry is part 13 of 20 in the series Backstory

So, the bottom line on backstory: your characters need it, and your story might, too. But we have to be very careful to balance backstory with the present story, which should be more compelling and only enhanced by the backstory, never impeded. (Oh, is that all? 😉 )

I’m not the only one who feels this way. Just last week, literary agent Kristen Nelson singled out backstory and minutiae as the two biggest reasons why novels start in the wrong place (and we looked at how to start your story in the right place, too).
Here are some of the great articles and books I’ve studied and referenced as I worked on this series:

(Can you tell I’m a fan?)

What articles have you come across on backstory that have helped you understand more about this tool?

Photo by Sue Clark

Technique

Backstory, plot and revelation

This entry is part 12 of 20 in the series Backstory

Sometimes, we have another use for backstory. I’ve seen this especially in women’s fiction and literary novels, though that may not be the only place it’s used. The present plot revolves around the backstory—and figuring out just what happened.

Okay, so that sounds a lot like a mystery. And, in a sense it is—sometimes the it’s even about discovering who really killed a victim. However, in these stories, usually it’s less about righting the wrong and showing good triumph over evil and more about finding meaning in life.

I’ve heard about a number of books that sound like they have the same kind of plot structure, but of the books I’ve read, the best example that springs to mind is The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd.

Now, throughout this series, we’ve talked about all the many ways backstory is so bad because we’re condemning the character/plot/conflict to be less compelling than something set in the present. So how can all these stories get published if they’re so focused on the backstory?

Let’s look at the structure of The Secret Life of Bees for some ideas. (No spoilers.)

  • The story does have action in the present. The backstory mystery—who killed Lily’s mother, Deborah—is introduced first, but we quickly get to see the conflict in the present: Lily doesn’t get along with T. Ray (her father), and there’s also the historical backdrop of civil rights.
  • The backstory fuels the main character’s quest.
  • The backstory is important to the character—and the reader.
  • The POV character doesn’t know the backstory—it’s a mystery to her. While I think this is the most popular mode, this varies in some books, though: sometimes the POV character knows but doesn’t want to think about it.
  • What is probably key (and many thanks to my friend Sarah for helping me hash this out/saying it herself): The backstory—and the journey to discover the backstory—is the plot: the character’s growth comes in her decision to reconcile herself with her past and move on to the future.

What do you think? Have you read a book like this? Why did it work (or not)?

Photo by Marie Richie

Technique

Backstory and character motivation

This entry is part 11 of 20 in the series Backstory

Backstory and character motivation can be a dicey topic. This is generally the best use of backstory—to motivate your characters’ actions in the present. However, conveying that backstory is still a trick—and sometimes backstory isn’t the best way to show motivation at all.

As with characterization, backstory can’t be the only way we show a character’s motivations. Again, this suggests that we’re not just products of our past experiences, but that we’re trapped by them. In the world of fiction, this is unfortunately not very compelling. Imagine a character who only ever acts based on the fact that his mother yelled at him. Is that backstory—and the motivation it creates—going to offer enough internal motivation and conflict to craft a mystery/romance/fantasy/literary novel around? Probably not.

Instead, we should look to the story present as well as backstory to create motivation and conflict. As editor and author Alicia Rasley says in “Character Motivation” (emphasis added),

Motivation (especially internal motivation) often comes out of backstory… but the story itself plays out the intermixing of motivation and conflict.

So: Be wary of motivation confined mostly to the internal or to backstory. Give the character something immediate to inspire action today. There should be a present-day event to inspire the manifestation of the internal or past motivation– for example, Heroine inherits the house where her mother committed suicide and decides to start a new life by renovating it. The external motivation is that “starting a new life”; the internal motivation might be to exorcise her mother’s ghost or to deal with the trauma of the suicide. The internal motivation comes out of the backstory, but the external motivation is in the here-and-now of the story.

And motivation, especially that created in the past, doesn’t have to remain static. It can change (and should change) because of the events of the plot.

Backstory is important because it can explain objectionable actions (which are great for increasing reader curiosity), and it gives our characters a place to grow from. But it shouldn’t be the only way we motivate our characters—and as our characters grow, their motivations (and actions) will grow and change with them.

And editor Theresa Stevens has said:

Beware the backstory used to shore up character motivations. It often points to a lack of real conflict or to other plot problems. Every time you’re tempted to reach backwards to explain why characters are behaving a certain way, stop. Ask yourself if you can fix it in the present story moment, because this will almost always be the stronger fix.

This is one of those instances where backstory can be just a little too convenient. We, the authors, need the characters to argue here so . . . let’s give one a traumatic event in childhood. (Thanks, Freud.) Instead, perhaps we should take a longer look at our characters to see if we can’t give them a better reason for conflict in the present.

Yes, backstory is important for characters’ motivation—perhaps even necessary—but if it’s the only way we choose to motivate our characters, are we weakening them? What do you think?

Photo by Colleen Lane

Technique

Backstory and characterization (and what NOT to do!)

This entry is part 10 of 20 in the series Backstory

So we’ve talked about the methods of conveying backstory—but we also need to hit on the purposes of backstory. Generally, I see two main uses for backstory: to explain why the character is the way he is (characterization) and does the things he does (motivation). Personally, I think using backstory for characterization is the weaker of the two reasons—but both come with caveats.

It seems like backstory in characterization is usually used to try to make us feel sympathy with the character. The errors can run either way. In “Sympathy without Saintliness,” editor and author Alicia Rasley lists several common faults in trying to create character sympathy—and backstory is two of them:

4) Giving the protagonist a lot of heroic backstory. Yeah, he was a big hero in the war. Yeah, she saved a lot of lives during that epidemic. But that was then. This is now. Backstory is just background– the character exists right now, and what he/she does now is what’s important. It might work if now he/she is burned out by all the heroics, self-doubting, feeling like an impostor… oops. Now we’re getting into the fun stuff…. hang on to that thought. 🙂

sad sack5) Giving the protagonist miserable backstory. This is often done in order to excuse some unsympathetic behavior or attitude [and is also a common technique to try to make villains sympathetic]. Yeah, he hates women, but it’s because his mother abandoned him! And his foster mother beat him! And his aunt framed him for murder! And his first girlfriend trapped him into marriage by getting pregnant! And…

Gag me.

Maybe we’re just hitting a nerve here with me, but frankly, I’m so tired of seeing that in fiction that instead of feeling that desired tug at the heart strings, I roll my eyes when I read about how he’s too short and her mother never, ever loved her. I know a lot of people who’ve been through bad times: abuse, living on the street, loss, grief. None of them automatically became fractured protagonists or villains. Geez, if these characters are going to act a certain way, let them take responsibility! Don’t just blame everyone else—that character made a choice somewhere along the way that made them into this person. (Possible exception: the character’s journey is about learning to take responsibility for his/her choices and actions.)

Alicia puts it better than I can: “While we want to sympathize with the characters, we don’t want them to be victims so battered by past events that they don’t actually live in the present. There’s also that ‘authenticity’ problem. If we lose the sense that this is a whole person, if we think the author just layered all these past traumas on, we won’t believe in the protagonist.”

We don’t want our stories or our characters to be trapped in the past. We need to remember to focus on the story. As Mystery Man on Film said:

What happens in the past, off screen, good or bad, does not affect sympathy. It’s what we see the character do in the present that determines how much we will or will not care about that character.

Backstory can definitely influence how our characters are and act—they had to come from somewhere!

But that’s not the only problem with backstory and characterization. If we use backstory as the primary way to build character sympathy, we’ll probably have to stop the present story to wedge in a long story about our character’s terrible childhood. We run the risk of boring our readers right out of caring about our characters. We need to focus on the scene—and story—at hand to find a way to get our readers caring.

What do you think? What’s the right way to use backstory for characterization?

Photo by Margarit Ralev